tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57580139438079594342024-01-19T16:49:46.879+08:00whispered wordsMy take on life...adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-71400146057221564872016-05-29T12:33:00.001+08:002016-05-29T12:41:26.401+08:00The Missing Emotion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When you don’t feel an emotion for a very long time you start believing that you won’t feel it ever.<br />
<br />
Happens to all of us, right? If you don’t get angry, you feel nothing is going to annoy you ever again. If things don’t upset you, you feel the world is slowly turning into a happy place.<br />
<br />
If you have been out of love for years, you probably feel you will never fall in love again.
But what if that one person gives you all those feelings that you thought you would never feel, again and again? What if every time you have a conversation with him, you get reminded of those feelings that you once had?<br />
<br />
<i>-- </i><i> “Hey, I may come to India soon. Will plan a trip to Delhi. ”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>-- “Oh! Really?”</i>
<i>-- “Yes. It’s been a while since we have spoken?”</i><br />
<br />
<i>-- “You don’t remember the last time we spoke? Didn’t go too well.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>-- “I do. Skype?”</i><br />
<br />
The same conversation after months of absolute silence. Did anything change? Maybe they laugh a little less than they used to; maybe she has has stopped asking when are they meeting, or, if they are ever going to meet again; maybe he has stopped suggesting she should move on.
That’s all that changed. The conversations.
The emotions kept coming back, every time. More with each conversation.<br />
<br />
The anger, the longing, the joy, the excitement followed by the calmness, and those butterflies.
And, it is only at these times you feel you haven’t changed. You still feel those emotions you thought are dead, and never going to return.<br />
<br />
It’s like when Bob, the Minion, pops out of a box with his stuffed toy and says: “<i>King Bob. Pwede na?</i>”
You are not too sure whether you are happy to know your feelings aren’t dead, or scared of what it is capable of.<br />
<br />
It’s only at these times you feel you can fall in love again. But, just not with him. Not again.</div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0National Capital Region28.5941685062326 77.250366210937528.1480820062326 76.6049192109375 29.0402550062326 77.8958132109375tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-4782923766588924412014-05-12T14:11:00.002+08:002014-05-12T15:19:25.821+08:00The man with a ring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last night, he looked into my eyes, and whispered, "I can give my life for you." I, of course, laughed and said, "You are a fool!" We were both drunk.<br />
<br />
This wasn't the first time we were intoxicated and in close proximity. But, this was the first time he said exactly what I had wanted to hear, once. It only came too late. Six months late.<br />
<br />
I can't deny I had pined for him, once. I can't deny that I would replay that song that had his name, over and over again, so much so I almost broke the replay button. I can't deny that I would keep checking his tweets to find something that I can start a conversation with. And then I would send a text, nervously, "Hey, did you hear what Amit Shah just said?"<br />
<br />
We bonded over politics and beer. But it came with his disclaimer, "I don't feel emotions."<br />
<br />
But of course he didn't feel emotions. And for a while, I told myself 'emotions are for fools.' I didn't feel anything either. Or so I thought.<br />
<br />
Till of course, the news of his 'ring' came. His ceremonious 'ring.'<br />
<br />
"So, what does she look like? Is she pretty? Will you bring her to Mumbai?," I asked. <br />
<br />
He would, most often, nod his head at these questions. And, smile. I never tried to understand what that smile really meant.<br />
<br />
The only thing I knew was this was a battle we chose not to fight. We knew we would lose. Or, would we? It did not matter anymore. It was too late.</div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-26562252761289202912013-11-30T04:00:00.000+08:002013-11-30T04:00:01.651+08:00Hell or heaven?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Staying up on a Friday night without alcohol means sorrow. Well, most often. And what do you do about it? Everyone's asleep. And you don't want to talk to humans--you are practically done with them. So? You blog.<br />
<br />
Sitting alone on my window sill today I wondered so who goes to hell and who goes to heaven. Who decides? We all have lied, cheated and broken hearts at some point of time. Then? Who is the less cheater among us?<br />
<br />
That gorgeous woman I saw at the bar last evening--she looked sad. Somehow. Her heart may have been broken. But then again she may have broken a thousand of hearts too. That cute guy sitting on the next table, waiting for his girlfriend maybe, may have blamed people for his faults. Several times.<br />
<br />
And I realised, there maybe no hell or heaven at all. It's what we carry with ourselves. The bad memories are hell, and the good ones are heaven. But somehow hell always overpowers heaven. </div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-45910572208724014372013-07-16T19:58:00.003+08:002013-07-16T19:58:27.717+08:00You are not supposed to like...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
What do you when you start liking someone you are not supposed to?<br />
<br />
Why are you 'not supposed to'? Well, because your life has certain rules. You are supposed to abide by them. You have made promises that can't be broken. You are to follow a path that you created, you decided. If you decide to like that someone, they will say you wronged too many.<br />
<br />
But. What do you do when you like someone you are not supposed to?<br />
<br />
You do not want to, you know it is wrong. Who says it is wrong? They. You. Everyone. You heart knows it's not fair.<br />
<br />
Yet, what do you if you like someone you are not supposed to?<br />
<br />
I wonder.<br />
<br />
Scold yourself and get back to work. </div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-64585675002414985982013-06-20T04:53:00.002+08:002013-06-20T04:53:23.298+08:00Where are the fairies?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There was a time I couldn't think beyond you. The thought of you not being there in my life, would kill me. You came. We loved. We conquered. A chapter was written. And I thought to myself who said fairytales don't exist? I am living one.<br />
<br />
We lived that fairy tale for quite some time.<br />
<br />
But I don't remember when all the fairies died. They wouldn't cure if we were hurt. They wouldn't listen to either of us. We were left on our own. And that's when we realised fairies can create magic. We can't.<br />
<br />
I don't remember falling out of love. Considering how passionate I am, about almost everything, I can never stop loving a person.<br />
<br />
I know you can't either. <br />
<br />
Maybe you will continue to make music, and me? I'll continue to wrestle with words.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's how life will go on till me find our fairies. </div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-51146337489105592382013-04-06T06:38:00.001+08:002013-04-06T06:38:45.680+08:00It's not the same. Anymore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Without you..nothing is the same. And why should it be? You were the difference.<br />
<br />The waking up isn't the same. I don't have to tell anyone it's morning.<br />
The breaking news isn't the same. I don't have any calls to disconnect and say "I am busy." <br />
The smoking isn't the same. There's no one to tell me.."not much, please."<br />
Neither is the buzzing phone same nor is the 5.0 mp camera.<br />
The shopping isn't the same. Google chat, or bread with ham--nothing is same. <br />
<br />
There's no you.<br />
<br />
But. I know. I realize. My role in the your movie is over. I accept.<br />
<br />
Without you "Hrid majhare rakhbo" will never sound the same.</div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-53398274443659994692013-03-06T03:34:00.000+08:002013-03-06T03:34:27.061+08:00Kolkata...makes me happy. And sad<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There's a lot about Kolkata. When the pilot announces, "We are landing in Kolkata, Nejaji Shubas Chandra Bose Airport. Temperature outside 30 degree Celsius"... Your heart skips a beat. You feel those butterflies yet again. The thrill of hearing, speaking and eating Bengali is a feeling that just cannot be described.<br />
<br />
And then, a day passes. Kosha mangsho, shutki mach, chocchori, chaa and cigarettes after cigarettes are just the beginning to an awesome holiday you believe. The air makes you feel that you belong here. You tell yourself that this will be the last holiday. Next time you'll be Kolkata's again. But well, it doesn't turn out that way.<br />
<br />
Slowly, things happen. Things that make you sad. Things that make you angry. Things you thought you will never look back at when you left the city 3 years back. Things that remind why you left, why you decided never to come back. And then you feel you need to leave Kolkata again. Just, this time you don't know if you can ever say "home is where heart is."</div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-61740756304907246622013-03-01T01:50:00.002+08:002013-03-01T01:50:31.130+08:00Dear FM, your 'women-friendly' budget isn't what we need<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
So, our Finance Minister P Chidambaram said today that India will set up a special Public Sector Unit bank solely for women. Noble idea. But how will that help?<br />
<br />
Will this ‘all-women’ bank give me more interest rates on my savings
account? Or will it give me cheaper loans? If it does neither, what’s
the point really? Last time I checked, banking didn’t differ much based
on whether you were a man or a woman. We find it to be equally easy or
difficult. And it’s not like I feel particularly unsafe there rather
than anywhere else. Then, why this exclusive bank?<br />
<br />
He proposed to set up ‘Nirbhaya Fund’ and allocated Rs 1,000 crore to
it. He also proposed to provide an additional sum of 200 crore to
Ministry of Women and Child Development to design schemes for women
belonging to vulnerable groups.<br />
<br />
Very populist I must say. But how this going to be used?<br />
<br />
Last year, Ministry of Women and Child Development was allocated Rs
18,500 crore and the year before Rs 12, 650 crore. Have they been able
to improve or make our society secure? No.<br />
<br />
What we need is education, for both male and female. What we need is
fast-track courts for crimes against women. What we need is development
at the grassroot level– one of them being more toilets for women. And
what we really need is security. Maybe, more funds to increase policing on the streets, as well as more female police officers would be a better idea.<br />
<br />
It was a plain populist budget.<br />
<br />
Most women will still be groped on the streets – perhaps even on the way
to the all female bank, men standing in crowded buses will still make
those lunges at our thighs, chest or butt, they will keep gesturing from
a passing cab and complaints about molestation will still be taken
lightly.<br />
<br />
Isn't it time, Dear FM, to put some action where your words and your money seem to be?<br />
</div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-33766298866638256232013-01-31T04:33:00.002+08:002013-01-31T04:33:55.548+08:00Let it end<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Everytime something nears its end, we try to pause it, hold it, hide it..do everything to not let it end. (Remember: Your favourite TV series?)<br />
<br />
But, how many times can we possibly do that? When something has to end, it just has to. And maybe, it will make way for something new, something differenet (can't vouch for the better though).<br />
<br />
It's time. It's my time to let this go. Every time I thought, oh this can't end...this is the best thing of my life..this is my life, I have been disappointed again and again. Every time I realised it's the end, I stopped looking. But, well..like evreything, this too had to end.<br />
<br />
I am not waiting for something new. As they say, save the best till the end..this was it. I did save it. Just couldn't keep it for too long.<br />
<br />
Nothing lasts forever. And I know it now.</div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-65932772506845370612012-01-13T00:38:00.000+08:002012-01-13T00:39:37.349+08:00A trip down memory lane with India’s oldest Test cricketer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Peter May was at the striker’s end as Vinoo Mankad, one of India’s greatest spinners, ran in slowly and bowled a floater on middle and leg. The venue was Lord’s and the year 1952.
As May went for the powerful pull, the crowds – in the replays era – cheered, anticipating a six, when suddenly the agile man behind the stumps sprang a surprise.<br />
<br />
Umpire Frank Chester came running towards him from the square leg and said, ‘Well caught.’
The man was none other than Madhav Mantri.<br />
<br />
Now 90, his face mostly hidden by black-rimmed glasses, a cervical collar round his neck, a little hunched by the years, dressed in a plain white kurta-pyjama — Mantri, better known as Sunil Gavaskar’s uncle, is also the oldest surviving Test cricketer in the country, is nowhere close to even being ‘old.’
Mantri still treasures the compliment that came from umpire Chester. He told him what a fine wicketkeeper he was when he sent May, the hero to many an English schoolboy cricketer, walking back to the pavilion. May was one of the best English batsmen of the post-war era and went on to become one of its greatest skippers as well.<br />
<br />
As old as he is, Mantri displays a zest for life that is almost unmatched. He is a board member of a leading co-operative bank, the trustee of a prominent school and a former teacher whose students still seek his approval before sending anything for publishing.
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.firstpost.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/madhavmantri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://www.firstpost.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/madhavmantri.jpg" width="380" /></a></div>
He is a little hard of hearing now, and has to strain his eyes to read the letters his students send him; but his memory has not been blurred by the passage of time.<br />
<br />
He remembers every minute he spent on the cricket field. The moment he starts talking about cricket, he comes alive.<br />
<br />
He was only a boy of 18 when he scored his first century — but the excitement has not faded away– it is still clearly visible in his sparkling eyes which have many a story to tell. And it’s infectious.<br />
<br />
Mantri played 95 first-class matches, and scored 4403 runs with seven hundreds including a top score of 200. He managed to play just four Tests for India, scoring 67 runs with eight catches and one stumping, but he had a career that was indeed ‘first-class’ in the eyes of many.<br />
<br />
Like all other cricketers, Mantri’s first brush with cricket was Mumbai’s very own ‘gully cricket’. He played in the by-lanes of Hindu Colony in Dadar, and unlike now, the roads would remain empty, without a single bike or a car parked. “My father would give me four annas whenever I took more than five wickets in inter-lane matches,” he fondly remembers, breaking into a child-like grin. With that encouragement he moved on from the bylanes of Mumbai to the Mecca of cricket.<br />
<br />
In 1933, as a 12-year-old, he went to Bombay Gymkhana with his father to watch the first ever India-England Test match played in India.
England needed 39 runs to win, and Charlie Barnett completed the victory against the ‘minnows’ in a grand style as he hit two towering sixes. Nearly 20 years later, Mantri bumped into Barnett on his 1952 tour to England, and reminded him about the victory. Barnett was delightfully amazed.
Little did he knew, that one day someone would praise him and remember his cricket as he remembered Barnett’s.<br />
<br />
In the early 70s when Mantri met the UK Deputy High Commissioner, he was asked whether he smashed Douglas Wright (England spinner) for a six in Canterbury. “The ball came to me in the crowd,” he said. This time, Mantri was left amazed.<br />
<br />
Mantri who stopped playing cricket for almost six decades ago still ‘thinks, dreams and lives’ cricket. He still retains his boyish charm, living his adolescent dream in a vicarious way.
When asked about his love for the city, all the 90-year-old reminisces about is the gully cricket he played as a boy. This encapsulates Mantri in many ways. Mumbai, childhood, joy.. can all be summed up in one word; cricket.<br />
<br />
Making his first-class debut for Bombay in February 1941, Mantri set an Indian wicket-keeping record of nine scalps that remained unbroken till 1980 when Mumbai’s Zulfikar Parkar got the perfect 10.<br />
<br />
He goes down memory lane to relate a story that never fails to draw chuckle. He remembers the day he met Sharmila Tagore, but couldn’t recognise her. “In those days we didn’t have TV, and I didn’t go to the theatre much.”
Sharmila Tagore wanted a seat to watch a match in which Pataudi was playing. Mantri without recognizing her gave her an ordinary seat from where almost nothing could be seen. Later, when he saw ‘Kashmir Ki Kali’, he jumped on his seat as he recognised the woman was the one whom he had once refused the premier seat. He bursts into laughter as he remembers the incident.<br />
<br />
Summing up India’s latest performances he says, “This team doesn’t know how to field. We were always reminded, unless you are a good fielder, you are not in the team.”
But suddenly waking up from the reveries of his past feats, Mantri slips almost unknowingly to the present scenario…and sighs “But, now they don’t care about those things anymore.”</div>adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-8820024882019166352011-09-28T00:33:00.000+08:002013-02-07T23:11:03.312+08:00Needs new. More new.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I do not like blogging in blogspot anymore. There's so much to write about. A new job, a new town, new people, new friends..if I can call them so..and ofcourse new life.<br />
<br />
Yes, I must write something about my new life in Bombay. But, I don't like blogging anymore in this old format. I need new things. <br />
<br />
I want everything to turn new with a blink of my eye.<br />
<br />
Please happen soon. Otherwise I might never come back. And ofcourse I am lying.<br />
<br />
Writing is my life now.</div>
adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com2Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0176147 72.85616440000001118.826811199999998 72.7533269 19.2084182 72.959001900000018tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-63116504172587286312011-06-19T01:26:00.000+08:002011-06-19T01:26:45.949+08:00Absolute Blah...life is a big fat bitch.<br />
and so is the world.<br />
but.<br />
some things are sweet.<br />
Its just a phase, maybe it’ll pass<br />
But just as long as it lasts…I’ll smile,<br />
wont you too?<br />
Even half a smile will do<br />
(:adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-5609621569523531812011-04-05T02:51:00.000+08:002011-04-05T02:51:18.617+08:00Heart broken? Nah!It happens every time. I like a guy..like him more...like him crazily..start dating, get trapped in an emotion which has no name. Every thing seems Bollywood. But soon after the oh-so-cute-guy turns into the biggest nightmare. I have no clue why how and when I turn these guys into an intolerable species called, 'obsessed'. My journalism fails to answer all these questions.<br />
<br />
I hate being judged. I have made that clear to every single person I met. I don't judge you...so why the hell would you?If you don't like me, don't pretend to be friends.Go and bury yourself somewhere else.<br />
<br />
I have no clue why does it happen to me everytime..<br />
<br />
No.no more heartbreaks. The heart is already broken. But the man I thought had the perfect glue to fix it, couldn't. Smashed it a lil' more. A bad engineer, I would say.:)<br />
<br />
P.S. : I am picking up the broken pieces. A few seems missing. But doesn't matter. Ill take care of the ones that's left.<br />
<br />
I sincerely wish I didn't have a heart.It just wouldn't hurt so much.adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-10504671299158598262011-03-08T18:17:00.000+08:002011-03-08T18:17:00.416+08:00Unexpected always..Things have been unexpected for me all the time...<br />
<br />
eight months in ACJ...<br />
I thought I would hate the place, and life would be difficult..<br />
but 60 more days is not enough to absorb the love that's all around in the air.<br />
<br />
Made some great friends.<br />
Learnt more than I expected.<br />
<br />
And most of all...learnt to be on my own. :)<br />
<br />
Things to happen for the good.<br />
<br />
P.S. I just came back this morning, after a nice weekend at home.delicious food!<br />
I sit here in the lab, with my sore foot high up on the air. It hurts.:(<br />
<br />
Yet, it dosen't matter anymore...I have learnt how to be on my OWN.adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-82676380596622106732010-07-05T19:44:00.000+08:002010-07-05T19:44:08.723+08:00finally.... ACJ.No more form filling.no more last dates.no more demand drafts.no more mugging up names from newspaper in sleepy eyes.no more running about.no more traveling for interviews.<br />
finally it is Asian College of Journalism.<br />
the day I got on the coromandel express to go to chennai for my interview,I was not just sceptical,but almost was hating the trip in the non-ac coach because of unavailability of tickets.and more so because...no more free messages for the next 5days!<br />
no body understood my language.I was an alien if I did not know tamil or telegu.the names of places were hardly pronounceable.the smell of idli-vada.extremely hot with maximum humidity.onions.getting highly excited at noticing KFC!<br />
yes,I was in Tamil Nadu.:)<br />
the interview happened.the unusual sort of interview.no current affairs,no grilling.but just a plain simple interview.From where do i find weed in kolkata to how much i hate mamata banerjee,I had to tell them all.<br />
next two days went about trying not to get bored..and me and mom exploring tamil nadu.<br />
finally,after all the hustle bustle we landed in kolkata.ah!home feels wonderful.<br />
two days later,after I got to know I got thru' ACJ,it was decided.I am going.though many advised not to..'journalism?huh!u'll never get a job'...'complete your masters,economics has a lot of prospects'...and etc...though I was sure of my decision to pursue journalism all these years,but a strange fear seemed to envelope me.I hate the feeling of going away.I hate leaving my cushiony bed here;the window thru which i could see the moon;my book shelf;lyeing down on my terrace mending my heatbreaks;puchkawalla;chicken rolls and those evening strolls;durga pujo;friends and all those sudden plans;group studies;my mom's lap;fights with my sister,blaming each other for every thing;messed up room;shopping malls and kebabs with dad;nandan and movies;newmarket and shopping sprees.Can I simply leave them all and get into a new life?<br />
I'll be leaving on 9th.three more days.yes,I listened to my heart.:)<br />
no more sceptical.excited,happy and confident,determined.yet,the fear of building a new life.leaving away the most precious things still scares me.keeping my fingers crossed.<br />
off to a new city.away from home..adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-33551191607428370112010-04-28T23:02:00.000+08:002010-04-28T23:02:39.446+08:00at peace.Ever felt like as if you are lying on a cloud,and the cloud simply moves.slowly?<br />
Ever felt the rain is pouring just on YOU,even though it isn't raining at all?<br />
Ever felt you could jump off a cliff,without being hurt at all?<br />
Ever felt,that the silence could be so beautiful?<br />
Ever felt you could keep humming tunes all day?<br />
Ever felt you could just do NOTHING,not even write,just stare blank and feel at peace?<br />
<br />
I feel all of these.today.<br />
No,I ain't in love.My final year exams are over.<br />
I feel like a graduate today.:)adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-91488863411006056062010-04-05T17:44:00.000+08:002010-04-05T17:44:22.320+08:00shoaib-ayesha“Shoaib was duped and shown pictures of another girl as Ayesha. <br />
Shoaib had fallen madly in love with the girl whose pictures were sent to him.But that girl was not Ayesha. Shoaib was trapped." <br />
<br />
awrite.<br />
This guy fell for a photograph,and decided to get married without even seeing the girl for once.<br />
and the actual girl was somebody else.<br />
dude,if you fall in love with a photograph,inevitably the girl has to be somebody else...!<br />
And the girl...ayesha,got married to somebody she didn't even know.I mean 'nikah over the phone'...and that too without knowing how the person is...BIZARRE!!<br />
<br />
I don't know who should be sympathized.<br />
shoaib.ayesha or sania.adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-28829353538650219222010-03-23T20:17:00.002+08:002010-03-23T20:36:22.640+08:00form filling phase!!:xI am soo lousy,crappy,icky,rotten,filthy,gooey......and all the synonyms of 'LOUSY' when it comes to filling up forms!<br />from Google searching "best mass communication colleges",standing in the queue in banks for a demand draft,clicking passport sized pics,to running about here and there pulling my hair,to checking and rechecking and even more rechecking...to finally getting to post the whole thing...its just too much!!<br />TOO MUCH OF A BURDEN!<br />wheeeew!<br />wish I had just applied to one particular institute,and believe I would get thru'.that would make things so easy!<br />but then again that would be too much of overestimating myself!<br />I have to keep on doing this.Filling up forms.I wish I never have to do this again in my life.<br /><br /><br />ps:I just got a call from one of the institutes I applied to.After all the checking and rechecking...I still did not notice that I didn't stick my photograph in the box made in the application form!they have asked me to send it by tomorrow.I am in need of serious help!adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-23797740662283804282010-03-09T02:41:00.002+08:002010-03-09T02:51:57.076+08:00women's day<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CAsim%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CAsim%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" 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Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p>International Women’s Day is essentially a day of symbolism. Many use it as a day of activism, solidarity, or reflection, but the world cannot be changed in a day. So symbolism is still at its core. In its own way, that can certainly be a valuable and worthwhile thing.</p> <p>But it is useless for even that much if it does not recognize and center all women, including and especially those who are most vulnerable and commonly forgotten. International Women’s Day is useless if it does <span style="color:black;">not recognize and respect both the womanhood and humanity who are Trans, and dedicate to fighting for their rights and basic safety. International Women’s Day is useless if it does not<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span> include women with disabilities, and work for</span> their essential rights. International Women’s Day is useless if it does not center poor women all over the globe, including those in developing countries, who are struggling against hunger and violenc . International Women’s Day is useless if it overlooks the rights and safety of those suffering the greatest violence, including (in addition to those listed above) sex workers, trafficking victims, and slaves. International Women’s Day is utterly pointless if it does not include and explicitly welcome women of all races and ethnicities, sexual orientations, ages, immigration statuses, religions, and nationalities; remember that women have multiple aspects to their identities.</p> <p>In other words, International Women’s Day is useless if it does not include all of the women who are reading this blog right now. And International Women’s Day has failed worst of all if it <em>only</em> includes women who are able to read this blog right now. Because a day that is not about equal rights for all is a day that is necessarily not actually about <em>women</em>, but a day about only <em>some</em> women. </p> <p>And that is something that all of us can stand to remember in our daily activism, as well.</p> <p>Nothing might change in a day…but let’s just dedicate this day to all the women out there.Yes,we are special.</p> <p>I do need a man,who will tell me I am the most beautiful…who will bring flowers to make me smile,and I will acknowledge his existence because we both complement each other.But,he wnt break me,coz I am fragile.He knows that.strong yet fragile.We are to be loved.to be respected.to be cared.to be honoured.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" >I particularly thank god for being a woman. I am proud of my womanhood.<o:p></o:p></span></p> adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-63686407331542797322010-02-23T04:16:00.004+08:002010-02-23T05:40:16.129+08:00I am just ordinary.I was trying to get some bit of sleep...infact I had almost reached the world of my dreams,when this call comes calling me a 'thief'...<br />no,I didn't steal money,nor jewelery,not even somebody's heart if you think the <span style="font-style: italic;">Romeo-Juliet </span>kind!:P<br />I stole somebody's words.I won't elaborate on this but...I did not quite like re-discovering myself.<span style="font-style: italic;">Now.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Had I been a princess I would have filled you with my luxuries.<br />Had I been an angel,I would make all your wishes come true.<br />Had I been the mountain,I would have protected you from all your foes.<br />Had I been a pencil,I would have made a mark in your life forever.<br />Had I been a singer,I would make your life musical.<br />Had I been the rain,I would refresh your soul every time I poured on you.<br />Had I been beautiful,I would have make sure u rose with pride,every time you look at me.<br /> <br /><span style="font-family: courier new; color: rgb(51, 102, 102);"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family: arial;">I am none of them.I am just a human,that too a plain ordinary one.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">All that I have is words.But,they fall too short for you every time.Yes,I keep looking for words,looking for things to make you happy...or should I say,I keep looking for ways to <span style="font-style: italic;">impress </span>you.But sooner or later I realize they ain't enough.I need more.You would say,<span style="font-style: italic;">"why?why do you need to impress me?don't you know that I love you?"<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>Yes,I know.I know you love me....but what if one day you feel I am too ordinary?too less for you?what if you feel you deserved someone better?what if you feel I am good for nothing?what if you feel I wasted your life?what if one day you call me up and say..<span style="font-style: italic;">."go away".</span>...<br />what if you stop loving me one day?<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I fear.I fear the thought of losing you.And,in the fear of arrival of that day,I keep looking for ways to impress you.<br /><br />I am sorry.forgive me.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"></span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><br /></span></span>adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-24235967260647278212010-02-20T03:32:00.001+08:002010-02-20T03:36:39.311+08:00<h3 class="post-title entry-title"><a href="http://adrijabose.blogspot.com/2007/12/bored-of-me.html">bored of me...</a> </h3> I’m bored of me. I’m bored of the same face that stares back at me from my bathroom mirror. I’m bored of my clothes, of the jewelry I wear. I want a make over. Where everything about me will be differentDifferent clothes. Thinner. No fab India. No silver earrings. No vodka n lime cordial. No cheap motorola cellphone. No buses. No metros. No same old curly hair that has looked the same since I was sixteen. No gurjari jhola. No chappals. no reporting stuff that I’m bad at. No wondering about why the bloody hell that guy didn’t call me. No keeping quiet when some one’s mean to me. No more sappy romance novels. No inarticulate speaking. No more whining. No more wallowing.<br />No more of me.<br />I want to go out shopping for a brand new me.....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">this was written way back....he went through my entire blog and loved ONLY this...<br />that's what makes it so special.It had to be re-posted here.:)<br />p.s.-i think i have found a new me.somewhat new.<br /><br /></span>adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-20673398039528672152010-02-20T03:20:00.001+08:002010-02-20T03:29:35.206+08:00me and you.<span style="font-size:130%;">I,<br />have a face,have a mind<br />made of mindless atoms<br />whose frenzied motion<br />brings order to my thoughts today.<br /><br />My thoughts,<br />my pains,joys,memories<br />nostalgic alternations of reality<br />behind whose hinted glasses i see you.<br /><br />You,<br />met me,changed me..bade me farewell<br />a teardrop was a lens that day<br />broke my world to pieces;not colors<br />yet a cold smile returned to me<br />for in a peice of shattered glass<br />..... I saw you</span>adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-8220848102806082952010-02-13T23:12:00.003+08:002010-02-13T23:13:49.312+08:00HEone of my fav post in my previous blog.<br /><br /><br />he<br />he makes me fall for him...i trip n fall<br />he picks me up...i fall for him again<br />n again...yet again...<br />again<br /><br /><br />again....<br /><br />he falls along with me<br />we enjoy it<br />we fall together<br /><br />togther again<br /><br />it hurts<br />the pain of falling again n again<br /><br />yet i seem to enjoy the wounds<br />he dosent<br />gives up on falling wd me<br /><br />it would be the never ending process if i hadnt been 'his cup of tea'.<br />he broke my heart to piecesadrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5758013943807959434.post-128380549853420962010-02-13T21:00:00.000+08:002010-02-13T22:26:25.195+08:00I begin.pheeew!My id has been hacked,and hence my inaccessibility to my previous blog.<br />so....lot of old memories lost,lot of words submerged with a lot of feelings faded.<br /><br />new blog.<br />new id.<br />new template.<br />....<br />with newer feelings and newly discovered words<br />I name my blog whisperedwords.:)<br /><br />I will also post few of my favorites from my previous blog.adrijahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658960122097104382noreply@blogger.com0